Swiftcurrent Creek August slipped away into a moment in time.

But how to give the weight of burdens to a ghost? A figment of his imagination?

She tried to mollify him--and when the gentlest of touches brushed to his cheek--pressed to him--it did not warm him as it had when she had been alive and in his arms.

No, in its wake, he felt the chill of the air, reminded of its vast emptiness. As if ice had brushed against him.

He barked a laugh to keep the torment that built in his chest. As if he could keep the tears at bay. With a certain force, he shifted, purposely banging the back of his head harshly against the trunk of the tree he sat back upon, the pooling emotion of her eyes haunting him.

Should have been me, Ibis. I'm the one who should have died. Not you. Never you.